Redemption
by Genis Aurion
Summary: AU. Stanley Marsh wants to find that perfect someone for him, so he consults the person for the job. But every desire requires a price, as he finds out, and so begins his twisted journey through time, friendships, and the understanding of his peers.
1. The Gatemaster

**Title: **Redemption  
**Author:** Zakuyoe  
**Rating:** Teen?  
**Warnings:** I intend to include themes of many kinds. Expect abortion issues, slash, rape, anything you can think of. It's a story that requires an open mind, so be prepared for when it comes.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own South Park. If I ever do, I'll let you know.  
**Pairings: **Any. As you read future chapters, you'll see what I mean by this.**  
Author's Notes:** So I know this story probably won't be to most of your tastes. But I wanted to give my shot at my first AU story, and so… here it is. I'm writing this story solely because I want to. Thanks to **Phoenix II** for giving me permission to build on the story idea he offered to me. If you like it I'd appreciate your time to leave me a review. It'd mean a lot to me.

_Chapter I_

Stan Marsh tried with the best of his ability to walk forward to his destination. Needless to say, it was quite the difficult task. The sand shifted between his toes uncomfortably, making way for his feet to sink to unwanted levels. It wasn't exactly quicksand, yet it was still very much so in that it restricted his walking pace. Not to mention the spiraling sandstorms blowing everywhere around him, which refused to relent in whipping grains after grains of sand into his line of vision. With the pressing conditions around him, Stan was lucky enough to even surpass the walking pace of a snail.

Where was he headed?—even Stan wasn't entirely sure. He'd been given a general idea as to what direction he needed to head towards. After all, there were apparently only two habitats in this land—which was quite reasonable in theory, since surely there could hardly be that many people able and willing to live and survive in these conditions. And granted he had entered this land chancing upon the first 'colony,' which thrived underground beneath a massive ruin, going toward the other area of civilization was almost a sure guarantee he'd find what he was looking for.

This being said, Stan was not of this country, and his lack of knowledge in direction was potent enough to demonstrate this. But explaining how he got here, why he was here, and what he was looking for… that surely would be no easy task. After all, if this land really was a land of perpetual sandstorms and seemingly endless horizons, then how could Stan have found himself here in the first place? Explaining this ordeal would indeed take a while, and a rather large amount of imagination would be needed. And because of its perplexity and length I won't explain it all at once to you now, but since it'd indeed be a while before Stan arrived at his destination I can at least start the tale, if you'd be willing to listen.

-

Stan Marsh, before all things, was and still is a man. In his land of origin (or country, world, dimension, or however you may wish to define it), he had been twenty-seven years of age, with his youthful nature and charming character still intact. He stood at an even six feet, with raven hair to complement his piercing blue eyes; and he held a rather impressive build, muscled and fit yet not excessively. He had also been quite popular among the ladies, but he could never seem to hold and keep a meaningful relationship with any of them. And though he had appreciated the companionship, he wasn't exactly satisfied.

He occasionally expressed this grief to his friend, Kyle Broflovski. Kyle was a man of the same age, though much more on the scrawny side. He had stood along Stan's side since the early days of naptime, way back in their pre-education years, and even to the recent day he remained loyal to Stan's needs. But though he was considered to have some degree of knowledge and intelligence, he found himself at a loss when it came to consoling his friend. "Just wait, it'll come with time," he'd say, and that would be the extent to which he could help.

Incidentally, there was still hope for Stan. One day, while driving home from yet another tedious day of work, his eye managed to catch sight of an unusual tent to the side of the road. As he passed it, Stan realized he'd never seen the tent there before… in his entire twenty-seven years of living. As he arrived home, he began to ask himself why it was there in the first place, who was manning it, what its purpose was. And after sleeping upon it, Stan decided that if it was still there the next day he'd get out of his car and examine it for himself.

Much to his luck, arguably, the tent remained situated in its exact spot. And so as Stan drew closer to it, he kept true to his promise and parked his car so as to inquire. It was indeed an odd sight from the outside, with the tent purple in color and probably large enough to hold a group of about ten or fifteen people. As he stood at its entrance, Stan wondered why he was the only one bothering to look at such an oddity, why most people weren't bothered by the sight of it. But he really didn't give it much though, and with a deep breath he dared himself to enter.

"Welcome," drawled the voice of a woman, slightly taking Stan aback with its coolness in tone. "Welcome… to my Shoppe of Dreams."

"Shoppe… of Dreams?" Stan took that moment to take a look around the inside of the tent. Perhaps at first glance you would think it to be a fortune teller's abode. The room was lined and littered with crystal balls of different colors and sizes, and the overall ambiance felt ominous and eerie in nature. But also among those orbs were strange jars, with contents filled with liquids of many colors; slender hourglasses, with multicolored sand grains filtering from the top glass to the bottom; and even a life-sized statue of an owl.

"My dear Stan," began the woman, and it then occurred to Stan that he still did not know from where exactly she was talking. "I've sensed the desires deep within your heart, and the cries of your isolation call to my attention." Of course, at this very moment, Stan found this woman to be rather lunatic in personality, but the fact that what she was saying about him wasn't exactly inaccurate… he chose to linger, to listen further.

"How do you know me?" Stan mumbled, though still relatively audible. "How do you know _about_ me?"

"I know everyone with dreams of burning desire."

"And I'm the only one with these 'dreams,' then?"

"If one had a desire as strong as yours, then they too would see this place and ask for guidance as you do. Those who do not… have other preoccupations, and they don't choose to find this place." Stan nodded, though comprehension did not come to him that easily. It was relatively difficult to not _want_ to find this place… seeing as it stood so blatantly obvious on the street…. And he was almost sure there had to be someone _somewhere_ who wanted something badly. There was no way he was the only one.

It was at this moment when the woman finally decided to show herself. Stepping from the shadows revealed her long, purple cloak. She had jet-black hair, akin to Stan's, and though it seemed it could be long and flowing it was instead bound to the back of head in a tight bun. Her figure was slender, and her face was young… most unlike the hag-old-woman image Stan had been developing.

"I am the owner of this Shoppe," she said, "and you are Stanley Marsh. You've come here because a pang of abandonment and isolation reverberates in your heart. You are alone but not alone, and you wish to change this. Am I correct?"

"I…"—and yes, Stan knew, she was right. But to admit such a thing… it was simply too absurd. And he couldn't help but to think 'scam' as he stood there inside the tent. Still, even so, there was a glimmering hint of possibility…. "Yeah."

"I can change that," she said, and almost by instinct Stan's eyes widened with surprise. "But everything comes with a price," she continued. "Man cannot desire everything, for even if he obtains the world he still desires the impossibly attained, still wanting the more that does not exist. Man must be willing to sacrifice for the sake of something else. To achieve your want of eternal companionship, you must be willing to pay the price. Knowing this, will you go on?"

"What kind of price?" Stan asked, but he was quickly reprimanded with a warning finger.

"Man must be willing to sacrifice for his greatest desire, regardless of the price he must pay." Stan sighed. Was it really worth it? Was it really worth paying this unknown "price" just to be finally able to settle down with someone for good? It was overwhelming of a decision to make, but what made it feel so crazy and absurd was that he was actually considering it still…. As he stood there, pondering, the names of his previous ex's came to mind… Bebe, Porschia, Mercedes, Jean, Red, Rebecca, Wendy…. If it really was a scam, though, would it make sense to even be following through with this…?

In the end, after some time, even Stan could not believe the words coming from his own mouth.

"I'll do it," he said, pulling out his bulky wallet. "I'll pay the price." Those words alone triggered shivers down his spine, but they seemed to be ineffective against the woman. She neither smiled nor frowned, but simply nodded in acceptance.

"All right. Follow me, then."

-

For now, let us return to the present time. When we left Stan he had been braving a sandstorm. Now, though he still hadn't found what he was looking for, the sandstorms around him had begun to die down. They weren't gone completely, but they still gave Stan the opportunity to better see where he was going.

It was perhaps because of this lessening intensity that Stan saw it: a battered, old stone building on a hill. Given the gloom of the imminent night, he surely would have missed it if the storms had instead picked up. He considered himself lucky, and he couldn't even begin to imagine what would have happened if he'd missed it. Was this the only entrance to their civilization?—Stan didn't even want to think about it.

Stepping out of silky sand and into the hardened soil of the hill was bliss to Stan. Sure, the sand had felt nice encasing his feet and seeping between his toes. But being able to feel solid ground was an even better of a feeling for him, and he relished every step as he made his way to the building.

The sky was cast with the pastels of sunset. In the distant horizon, somewhere far behind him, was the silhouette of the ruins he had first departed from. In a few moments he would be entering this building, losing sight of the outdoors and the smell of fresh air until he accomplished what he was here to do. But no one knew how long that would take….

After imprinting the memories into his mind, he opened the building's door. He half-expected it to be locked, but it wasn't. As the door widened it gave an eerie creak, loud in volume, and during that noise he thought he'd heard footsteps somewhere within the building. But he convinced himself he'd imagined it, and so he stepped inside the building with caution. He paid heed to even the slightest noise as he walked; he wasn't exactly intruding (or so he thought so, at least), but he still wanted to take as many precautions as he deemed necessary.

After all, he wanted to make it out alive.

Stepping into the darkness almost made him feel like being afoot on the premises of an abandoned home. He held the desire to shout "_Hello?_" just to see if he was really alone in the building. It certainly wasn't as welcoming as the ruins had been.

'_Maybe this isn't really where anyone lives at all,_' Stan thought to himself, pacing around the room. '_Maybe people used to live here but abandoned it, finding shelter elsewhere…. Besides, there was simply no way an entire civilization could live in this building…._' But only moments after having said this, Stan stumbled upon the answer… quite literally.

"_Shit_!" he exclaimed loudly, jumping on the spot in pain—for it was at that moment that Stan had stubbed his toe against something jutting from the surface of the floor. After finishing his tantrum of pain, Stan crouched down to examine the perpetrator: a latch to a trapdoor. But before Stan could even attempt to open it and peer inside, a boot came thundering against the door, startling him.

"Who are you?" From the floor Stan glanced up to see his new companion. To his surprise, though, the newcomer was not at all what his entry had made him to be… though misconceptions in character were now commonplace with Stan. The man before him best resembled an assassin, though his face wasn't masked (except by the lack of light). He was hardly muscular but rather light and slender… though he still apparently packed quite the powerful stomp.

"I… I'm Stan," Stan mumbled weakly. His suspicions earlier had been right—there really had been someone inside that building with him….

"Don't care," was the reply, swift in retaliation. "I'm asking who you are, not your name." For someone without a tough appearance, the man was quite startling—or at least, his voice was. Stan felt the urge to recoil or retreat; he wondered, at this point, what he had gotten himself into, and began to contemplate turning back and aborting….

'_But there's no going back,_' Stan reminded himself.

"My name is Damien," the man said again, now placing both feet on top of the trapdoor. "As the one assigned to guarding this entrance, I demand you to tell me who you are. Are you one of us? Or are you… one of _them_?"

"I'm…" but Stan could not answer right away. He knew his answer, of course—he was neither. But if he said that answer… what would be his fate? He needed to go down there…. Would telling the truth cost him his chance? But then, if he lied about it, and if they found him out… surely the consequences would be greater?

"Neither," Stan said at last. Here he decided to straighten himself back to standing posture. From this angle he could better see the man's face, and was quite startled to see a pair of crimson eyes glaring at him. And even though it wasn't too hard to accept this, though, Stan did somewhat hope it was merely the reflection of the sunset outside.

"Neither? Do you really take me for being that stupid? How do you know of the other group of people I'm talking about, if you're really neither of us?"

"I'm being honest!" Stan exclaimed, panicking. "It's… a long story. I'm not from this world, I was sent here on a quest to accomplish something. I only know of that other group of people you seem to hate so much because that's where I entered this land… I don't really know who they are or associate myself with them, I promise!" But even as the words came out of his own mouth he knew it would be a rather hard tale to believe. He knew he more than likely sounded like the young woman way back from the tent, how what she had been saying had sounded so absurd at the time…. The encounter itself had felt so long ago, and it was quite unbelievable for him to think that all of what she had said was actually real…. But would Damien take it?—Stan wasn't so sure.

It was because of this, however, that Stan found himself quite surprised to see Damien nodding in understanding. This really was all so odd to him…. "I believe you," Damien said, stepping off of the door. "You're dressed too funny to be one of them. But it's been a while since someone like you has come here."

To this, Stan gaped. "Someone like me?"—so there really were people like him who sought that woman's help…. Stan was relieved to hear this.

"Someone claiming to know the art of time and space travel." Damien laughed, bending down to open the trapdoor beneath them. "Come, I'll accompany you. You can just jump down."

"Okay." Damien was the first to go down, perhaps to prove his previous claim. Moments later Stan followed, and the two set off down the hallway in front of them. Somewhere close to the beginning of the hall was a lit torch, which Damien immediately grabbed and used to light their way.

"It's a very odd concept," Damien continued, his voice now considerably less cold in tone than it had been at their first meeting. "We've been forced to believe it's the truth, though. The thought of it is simply too advanced for the technology available to us here, but that really only supports the notion that there're worlds other than ours, worlds much more advanced than our own."

"Yeah," said Stan, "I definitely agree with that. Back in my world we would probably be using flashlights right now, instead of that… torch."

"What's a flashlight?" Damien asked; "ah, but I suppose that just proves my point." Stan could now both feel and see fine streams of sand passing through the cracks in the ceiling—they were now under the desert. It took considerable effort to protect his eyes from the sand, almost as if he were outside in the sandstorms once more.

"It won't die out," Damien assured his guest, nudging his head to the torch. "The flame, I mean. If that's what you're worried about."

"Oh… not really."

"This underground haven has been our refuge for decades," Damien explained. "It won't easily give way."

"I see." After that the two began to continue their walk in silence. There seemed to be no end to the tunnel… and if Stan knew any better he would have asked if it led back to the old ruin he had first seen. But he _did_ know better, and especially after their greeting he knew there was no way the two parties would ever want to associate with one another.

…unless he really hadn't found the second civilization yet, and this was simply a mere outpost. But that was a possibility Stan didn't want to have to think about.

Still, it was quite strange to him. Though he badly wanted to know why the feud existed to begin with, he was also quite curious as to why there was only one person guarding the entrance. He couldn't remember exactly how many people were on guard at the ruins, but it obviously couldn't have been that many if he didn't remember. Why were their defenses so weak if they were such odds?—and of all people to be put on guard, why Damien? Why not someone… hardier? Though, the building did have a door, which the ruins did not…. Perhaps it served as a defensive structure.

"I have a question," Stan said, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"Ask away."

"The door to that building we were just in… assuming it's supposed to help protect you, why isn't it locked?" Damien did not answer immediately. And ultimately, as they continued to walk, that was Stan's most outstanding concern. If that door was meant to add defense, why was it so easy to get through? Not to mention a door wasn't exactly the most defensive structure, either….

"I'm afraid that's not something I can answer," said Damien at last. "It's an order given to me. Of course I'd have it locked given the choice. However, there _is_ a man who can answer that question. If you'd like, I can tell you how to get to that man's house once we reach the underground village. And… well what do you know, we're here." The two came to a halt in the middle of the hallway. Stan looked around curiously; where _exactly_ was this entrance?—he couldn't see one anywhere.

"Down," offered Damien, and before Stan's eyes he unlatched yet another trapdoor. Stan had to admit it was a rather smart idea; especially with the falling sand and the gloom of the corridor, there was no possible way an enemy could easily find a trapdoor that wasn't at an obvious location in the hall. But it did make Stan wonder how Damien could figure out where it was… though that had perhaps been why he had made the effort in accompanying Stan to the village….

"The man's house will be on your left as you enter," Damien said quickly, "assuming you jump down facing this direction, that is. It's the only hut with a pointed roof. It shouldn't be hard to find."

"Thanks," said Stan, and he looked down below him: an abyss of darkness. "Oh, hey Damien?—just out of curiosity…."

"Hm?"

"I just wanted to know…. How'd you so easily find out where this place was?"

Damien smiled. "That I can't tell you, for all I know you could be a spy of the others. But since I like you, I'll give you a hint: Look to the ground as you walk." The man Damien gave one last salute, bowed his head, and then made his way back. Stan did not immediately jump; he remained still, watching the light of the torch grow fainter and fainter into the distance. It was only when the light truly seemed to fade completely when Stan finally turned around, took a deep breath, and plunged into the space before him.

The jump was a lot larger than it had been the first time, and it caught Stan by surprise. The feeling of falling lasted much longer than Stan had anticipated, and it wasn't long before Stan was holding on for dear life, clinging to himself and hoping for the end. And it did come, of course, and the delayed contact with the ground caused Stan to become unprepared for it, and he landed onto the ground on his knees, the rest of him falling to the ground afterwards.

It hurt, Stan knew it, and it'd taken quite a while to get up. But if anything made his pain easier, it was hearing the voices of people around him. Clearly he was no longer the only person in mile-long radii around him. The sound of a bustling street made him feel much more at home, a feeling he hadn't felt in so long. It was a feeling that filled the isolation in his heart, but it wasn't the isolation he had been complaining about before embarking on this adventure: It was isolation from the public, in general, and it felt good to be submerged with them once more, even if currently the majority were staring at him for his sudden appearance and odd garments.

He ignored them and stood up. It hurt to stand, especially after his fall. What had Damien been thinking?—implying that he could've just jumped again, that clearly wasn't the case. He tried to take a step but cringed in pain. Yet it was still bearable… and he could almost feel how close he was to finding what he was looking for….

And so he willed himself to keep going. He walked as quickly as he can on the streets (if they could be called streets, at least) and between the houses that lined both sides. Most of them held dome roofs, as Damien had claimed… and there was only one whose roof came to a point. And so, after realizing where he needed to go, Stan made one last effort to get there.

He knocked on the door. While waiting for a response, he took a good look at the village around him. It was dimly lit, with torches on the streets to light people's paths. Additionally, most of the people on the streets held their own torch-lamps, which they used as their own personal guides. There was no sand falling from the ceiling here, but the grounds were still coated with a light lining of it, giving a rather soft touch to the ground beneath him.

However, because of his absence of mind at the time, he could not have prepared himself for the surprise that awaited him as the door was opened before him.

"Kyle…?" Stan blinked. And sure enough, after overcoming the initial shock, his best friend for twenty-seven years was standing before him, holding a torch of his own. "Kyle… what are you doing here?"


	2. Equivalent Exchange

**Title: **Redemption  
**Author:** Zakuyoe  
**Rating:** Teen?  
**Warnings:** I intend to include themes of many kinds. Expect abortion issues, slash, rape, anything you can think of. It's a story that requires an open mind, so be prepared for when it comes.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own South Park. If I ever do, I'll let you know.  
**Pairings: **Any. As you read on, you'll see what I mean by this.**  
Author's Notes:** I'd like to thank **–Iaabi'SabeL**,** Cherri Misawa**, and **Phoenix II **for reviewing, as well as those of you that alerted and faved this story. I didn't expect that much interest in the story, so I'm quite grateful. Right now I'm just about to begin chapter four, so I'm staying a bit ahead of my updates. I hope you enjoy the second chapter… it starts to get a bit clearer, I think. Reviews and feedback still welcome.

_Chapter II_

It's important to continue the narration of the embarking of Stan's journey before proceeding in his tales in the desert land, so we'll start there. The last words the woman had uttered were "_Follow me, then,_" and with those words Stan had obeyed.

To his surprise, Stan had found the inside of the tent to be much larger than he'd expected. He was being led into the darkness the woman had initially stepped out from. In the corner was a large staff-like pole, which leaned against the tent's side. But besides this the 'backroom' was pretty much akin to the rest of the tent.

The woman, whose name Stan still did not know, made her way to the staff, and with each step she took Stan began to doubt more and more the decision he had made only moments ago. It was at this moment when Stan began to wonder by what means the woman would go about accomplishing the things she'd claimed. How would she help him, exactly?—could she force someone to forever stay at his side?—or, perhaps, a clone or robot….

"I'll give you one last chance," she said slowly, staff now in hand. "Are you sure you're willing to pay the price?"

"Yes," had been the response, though as he said it Stan almost felt as if he was signing his own death wish. And maybe he was, he wouldn't have known it then, especially since at this point he was still convinced the price would be in cash. "How much?"

The woman laughed. "It's not a price of monetary value. And even if it were… how moralistic does that make you seem, buying yourself a significant other."

"Oh." This new revelation puzzled Stan all the more, and it only seemed to confirm the notion that this woman, in fact, was a fraud. But it made him feel slightly better now, for if this all turned out to be a scam then at least it wouldn't put a dent in his wallet.

"There's no going back," the woman said, and she raised her staff. "Once you accept your path you are destined to it." Stan found it slightly bizarre, watching as she pounded the ground once with her staff. 

Who did she think she was?—Gandalf? But what amazed Stan the most was the surge of light being emitted from the base of the staff, soaring from the ground to the staff's tip. And then, before Stan realized it, bright blasts of light were being shot in his direction….

It was at first a hot burning feeling, but soon it dissipated into a comfortably warm feeling, as if in a sauna. He couldn't see; he was still blinded by the light. Through it all his many thoughts of this being a scam were simply erased… but still, believing such a thing was beyond practicality, and most of this was taking him by surprise.

It wasn't fair, in Stan's eyes. Sure, he agreed with this whole "man must make sacrifices" lecture she'd given moments before. But was it really fair that he'd not heard the price before agreeing to this?—hadn't men given up their desires amidst suffering the trials that accompanied it? Or did she really believe he was capable of going through without giving in?

When the light and warmth finally died down, Stan found the woman still standing in front of him, unchanged. Stan was almost glad for this; he wouldn't know what to think if she were smiling at him, or even angry. It'd almost make her seem like she was enjoying his naivety… and Stan wouldn't have been so keen on that.

"What was that?" Stan dared to ask, though the woman didn't directly answer his question.

"The price for eternal companionship," she began, setting the staff aside; "is to replicate this wish onto others… and by this I mean certain others, and this will be left to you to figure out. In simpler terms, you're to help the relationship problems of others before your own will be helped. Does that make sense?

"But the task would be too simple," she continued, not even waiting for Stan's response to her last question; "and you'll be able to see this once you realize the people you will be required to help. And so, to make the price equivalent to your wish, you will be required to execute this task in an environment and society you are unfamiliar with. The people you will aid will not recognize you, though you may know them. Why this mystery is so, I won't tell you now. But you'll figure it out in due time.

"You'll start paying this price tomorrow. You have tonight to prepare, though I won't tell you what exactly you'll need. You can use this time to say goodbye to friends and family; I don't suggest feigning a personal vacation, however. You personally won't be back for a while, but the amount of time you think you've spent away from here will not reflect the actual amount of time elapsed in this world.

"All of this, as well as the implications that accompany this, is your price. With that, any questions?" She turned to Stan to find a man staring in shock at her. And shock, indeed, was the emotion Stan felt. He indeed had questions—many of them, too—but most of them she'd already said she wouldn't answer. Putting all those aside… there were still too many to simply _ask_. He couldn't even grasp just one question to ask, it was all a floating mess in his head….

"All that's left is my own, personal advice," she said in his absence of a response, and thereafter she cleared her throat as if to begin a long speech. "Not everyone will be as you know them to be. Don't trust people just because you trust them here in this world. As individuals hold within them a multitude of differing personalities, likewise is the same on the broader scale. Trust no one but yourself, unless you have sufficient proof to call someone your ally.

"Be careful what you say and don't say, as well. Saying the right things will get you where you want, but beware the consequences. Your life in this task is just as valuable and fragile as it is right now, as you stand before me. Also, simply stating '_I'm from another world_' may not come up with results favorable to you. As best you can, blend with the people you're around."

"Finally, when I say you might see people you recognize… that does include yourself. Be prepared for when this happens. I'm sure you know how you'd react if you thought you were seeing yourself. With this, and with all other things, act in the way you see fit. You'll be faced with many trials, and your morals might as well be put to the test. And with that… I'm done."

The woman, now done with her advice, began to accompany Stan out of the tent. Stan stuttered and stumbled, still quite in shock of all that had just been said and what had just happened…. There were still questions he would be leaving unanswered, but perhaps he would figure them out on his own, somehow. But it didn't help that he didn't even know what to expect, that there was no way he knew how to prepare for what would happen. Or how to say goodbye to people close to him if he didn't even know how long he'd be gone for. Or what any of the riddles she spoke of meant.

He arrived home without too much problem. Immediately upon arrival he dragged out a suitcase from the garage and began stuffing as much stuff he could fit into it as possible. Clothes, mostly, but he also put in flashlights, extra batteries, a still-functional compass, a first-aid kid, and things along the like. He even threw other random, obscure things into the mix just in case he'd need such a thing on… whatever it was he was going to do.

But… how exactly was he going to go about doing this? It was bad enough he couldn't help himself with relationship problems… how was he going to help other people with the problems he couldn't fix for himself? _Who_, exactly, was he supposed to be helping? And if he even couldn't figure out how this woman was supposed to be helping him….

And that light, that warm feeling, what the hell had that been? What had been the whole deal with the staff?—had she put some sort of spell on him? Stan only hoped so, for he didn't even want to think of any other possibilities to the situation (not that he could've thought of any). But his curiosity on that matter, and on others, would not be sated, not for some time. He simply had no leads except for what she'd told him, and even that had sounded too overwhelming.

In the end, he decided he'd sleep on it. He hadn't said goodbye yet, but he'd do it when he woke up, right before leaving for this… adventure. Task. Obligation. It occurred to Stan, as he closed his eyes to sleep, he didn't even know where he was supposed to be going… though he supposed a quick visit to the woman tomorrow could fix that. She kept talking about some unfamiliar environment in which he'd recognize the people, though they wouldn't know him… and where exactly would you find a place like that?

Sleep came to Stan before he could think of the answer.

-

With that we can now return to Stan's encounter with Kyle, whose reaction you should probably be able to understand more easily.

"What do you mean, Stan?" Kyle had asked in response to Stan's question, tilting his head in that way Stan was so familiar with. "Am I not supposed to be here?"

"Well yeah, but I… you…." And of course, it was just now that the realization came to Stan, and with an accepting sigh of defeat he hung his head. "Sorry, Kyle. I guess I just didn't expect to see you here."

"You're the one who knocked on my door," Kyle said, his voice now filled with confusion. "Why would you not be expecting me?"

"I… don't know. Sorry. Can I come in?" Kyle, though raising an eyebrow, stepped aside so Stan could come inside. As it turned out, most homes in the underground village were lit by flame, which explained the torch in Kyle's hand. There were several torches around the house (though Stan argued they were probably more like candles without the wax), but otherwise the abode was rather dark. In fact, Stan found himself staying closer to Kyle as they walked, allowing his light to guide their way.

"But I'm curious as to why you're still here," Kyle said as they entered what he presumed was a kitchen. "Weren't you supposed to leave with the Clearwater Regiment this morning? Why are you still here, Stan?—and why are you wearing… _that_."

"Why am I…?" Stan hadn't even realized it, even when Damien had pointed it out. Their clothing styles clearly differed. His friend Kyle, or at least a person who resembled his friend Kyle, was wearing light, leather clothing, seemingly brown or yellow in color under torchlight; Stan, in contrast, was wearing a white t-shirt with striped pajama pants. But why this was so will be saved for another time.

"Anyway," said Kyle as he seated Stan, "I'm glad you're here. I mean, I know you were just here and all, but I was starting to get lonely."

"Lonely?" Stan asked, but apparently this was not the thing to have asked. Kyle's face was immediately thrown into confusion once more, though he left to get a jug of water to prevent Stan from really seeing his face.

"Were you brainwashed or something?" Kyle asked from where he was now. "Seriously, you're starting to scare me…. First you don't expect me when coming to my house, now…."

"Does this have something to do with the door not being locked?" Stan asked, figuring now would probably be a good time to ask while Kyle was still on the idea he was undergoing some sort of memory loss. "The gatekeeper Damien told me it wasn't locked for a reason, and that you might know…."

"Me?" Kyle asked, returning with a cup of water. "Drink." And so Stan did. Somewhere in his mind, perhaps in the back of his conscious, Stan felt as though he shouldn't drink this water, especially if it were poisoned or contaminated… or drugged. And even though the woman had told him not to, he felt as though it was okay, because this was _Kyle_, and he could trust Kyle….

'_Thank goodness I won't be running into myself anytime soon,_' Stan told himself. After all, he didn't really want to think about the mess that would bring any time soon.

"I'm… not sure what's happened to you," Kyle said with a worried tone, "but it's obvious you don't remember. So… I'll tell you. Do you at least remember my girlfriend?"

"Your girlfriend…?"—hold on. Stan looked at Kyle with wide eyes. Somehow, this was all too coincidental. It was almost like he was being led to what exactly he had to do. Kyle's girlfriend… would this be the person he had to help? Did certain people imply people he thought he knew?

"Her name's Bebe," Kyle said, and immediately Stan's suspicions were confirmed. But to think, his best friend, in this world-place, was dating one of his ex's…. But Stan, somehow, had almost expected it. Ever since he'd embarked on this journey, surprises were now commonplace.

"Blonde hair, somewhat curly?"

"Yeah, that's her… glad you remember some stuff." What mystified Stan more, perhaps, was how the exact same people from his world existed in this one. Sure, the woman had warned him they might be different, but it almost didn't feel like that was the case. If even their names and physical appearance were akin…. "Anyway, we'd been dating for about a year. But one day those… _people_… they launched some sort of surprise attack on us. I don't even remember how they pulled it off, but somehow they managed to do it. We were lucky enough to be able to deal with the attack, having had the battlefield advantage despite suffering the attack. But… Bebe went missing.

"I don't even know if it's because of that attack, but… that's really the only explanation anyone has. But even if she really had been taken hostage… I don't understand why. I didn't think she was anyone important, politically. She just seemed like a genuine, ordinary person, you know? So… lately that's why I've been lonely, because I haven't seen her in a while. But you… you at least tried to cheer me up, and you kept coming here to keep me company. And I dunno if I've really thanked you for it, so… thanks."

"No… problem," Stan found himself saying. It was the only thing he really could say. Even if it was with his best friend, Stan couldn't help but to feel slightly awkward in the situation. It felt so alienating, knowing the people in his story but not the events. It was as if he'd gone missing for a few years, only to come back to a whole new city and being forced to catch up with the ongoing occurrences… except in this case, it was an entire lifetime's worth of occurrences.

He also felt bad, to have take the spot of this world's Stan. Here Kyle was, sincerely thanking Stan for the supposed companionship the past however-long-it-had-been, and he wasn't even thanking the person he should be thanking. For a moment it occurred to Stan that, just maybe, he should tell Kyle the truth, and that he was just some person who almost literally woke up and found himself in a different world. Damien knew it, after all, and some day Kyle would find out. But… to tell the truth now, at this moment… surely Kyle would feel disappointed and used.

"About that lock," Kyle continued, "we leave it unlocked in case Bebe comes back. She's a strong woman who can fend for herself. But it's more specifically because we later learned from that attack that, after collecting the dead bodies, the attack had been initiated by an outpost camp and not of our enemy's main camp. And from what we knew… they were to the South, not too far from here. You were actually supposed to leave with that regiment to inspect that camp…. But because we assumed she might be closer by, and because they were a weaker force she could probably escape from, we left the door unlocked, so that she could return home more easily."

Kyle sighed, sinking himself into the chair across from Stan, pouring himself a cup of water for himself. Stan badly wanted to be able to say something, to help console his friend. But he couldn't think of anything. It was because of what that woman had said that he felt hesitant to treat this man _exactly_ as he would've with his best friend. And she was right: It now _did_ feel almost as if Kyle were someone different, despite the many similarities. And it was this difference that bugged him the most, that made this so much harder.

But at the same time, hearing Kyle's story… it almost made him happy on the inside. He knew what he had to do, now. He'd been assigned to—oh, how had she put it…?—'_to help the relationship problems of others_,' and certain 'others' at that. It had been what he came here looking for, and he had found it: Kyle and Bebe. It was almost clear to him that the task he was assigned to do was to reunite the two. But as for how he'd go about doing it… Stan was at a loss.

There was something else bothering him, though, and so Stan instead took this time to ask it. "Why exactly are yo… we at odds with… however you guys call them?"

"To us, they're the Ruiners," Kyle explained. "I wouldn't know what they call us… I've never really been bothered to find out." Except, as he reminded himself while Kyle took that moment to pause, Stan did know. "The feud we have is over water."

"Over water?" Stan asked, and it took him a split-second to realize not to take this literally. Obviously, being in a desert, this war wasn't a naval one. And that had meant….

"Yeah. Right now we each have our own reservoirs, which is why these two places are the only places people live. It's literally the _only_ place you can live if you survive on water. We used to be in good terms with the Ruiners, but one day an argument arose… and consequently they broke away from us."

"What was the argument about?" Stan asked, but Kyle merely shrugged.

"I don't know. It was way before anyone's time… probably even before our village elder's time." Kyle paused again to take a sip of water. "But yeah. Then one day they just started attacking. We took them all down, but immediately afterwards we started building defenses to this place. Or at least… that's how the story goes."

"Why'd they attack?"

"I dunno. I want to say their water supply wasn't as large as ours, maybe. It's the only logical explanation. They're fighting for ownership of our water because they're starting to run out." Kyle poured himself yet another cup of water. "Is it all starting to come back to you, now?"

"Yeah, kind of," Stan lied. Even though he was well out of the loop, he couldn't help but to feel intrigued when learning about this world's past…. It was interesting, much more so than the history he had learned back in high school and college. Or maybe it was because, unlike then, he actually felt like he was in history in the making, as opposed to some random student learning about something that had no affect on what was to come. Or maybe it was simply because he actually knew the people personally….

"So do you remember what happened to you?" Kyle asked. "I mean… why you aren't with the regiment and why you're dressed like… that."

"Oh…." Stan hadn't really thought about his alibi on that regard. He tried remembering the path he took in getting to his village… and then how that path would be backwards. He needed to think of something along that path that could possibly cause him this "memory-loss" he was faking… but what about the clothes? Stan didn't even know if the clothes themselves were either unheard of or simply not appropriate for the occasion. Kyle hadn't made any comment to them being strange or out of this world… just simply odd.

"I had a last-minute wrist injury," Stan eventually found himself saying, figuring feigning injury was the best excuse to get out of service. "The commander was wary about it, so he told me to get some rest and heal up."

"I see." Stan sighed, though internally. Kyle seemed to have bought it, at least. "And the clothes?—or did you just forget to change before getting out of bed?"

"…sure," said Stan, taking the offer. So apparently pajamas _weren't_ an oddity here….

"I'm surprised they haven't gotten very dusty yet," Kyle said, nudging at Stan's pants and shirt. "It's as clean and white as you can get them."

"Yeah… haven't used them yet." It was perfect how this was all coming into place… it was even starting to become easier to lie, though he still felt bad doing so. And now, all that stood in his way was the actual task assigned to him, to reunite Kyle and Bebe together….

"I'll go," Stan said, standing up.

"Go?"

"To start what I was supposed to finish." Stan paused to wipe his mouth from the water. "I'll go find Bebe for you."

"But… your wrist…?"

"My wrist's fine," Stan replied, moving his hands in wobbly circles. "It's okay, see? Besides, I owe you."

"What for?"

"For… uh…." Stan almost wanted to say '_For your hospitality_,' but that wouldn't have worked. After all, they were supposed to be friends, even in this world. Saying such a thing, however honest and true it was, wouldn't exactly fit in that circumstance. "I dunno. I owe you for not going with the regiment, I guess. But I'm gonna find out what happened to Bebe and bring her back to you."

At first Kyle said nothing. The two men looked at each other with such intensity for a time. It was odd how Stan felt connected to this man, even though he didn't know him in this world. It was almost as if they were the same person, yet still different people… it was the same identity, an identity he could understand and connect with….

Kyle stood up then. Now breaking eye-contact, Kyle staggered forth and embraced the other. Stan felt surprised at first, but immediately placed his arm around Kyle in a comforting hug. Though he really had no way of knowing, he could almost tell it was a saddening and difficult experience for the other….

"Thanks," Kyle said at last. "That… really means a lot to me."

"No problem," Stan replied. He looked to the door. "Well, I'll be off then."

"Now?"

"…is that a problem?"

Kyle shook his head vigorously. "No, not at all, it's just… it's really late. You should really get some rest, first."

"Oh… it's all right, I'll just…" but even halfway through his declination he felt tempted to take the offer. His feet ached, and he mentally felt tired and exhausted. It had definitely been too much for one day… and he still hadn't eaten. But for some reason food had seemed not very important that day, though now it was getting back at him…. "Fine."

"I'll prepare the guest room, then," Kyle said, standing up abruptly. "I can fix you something to eat for tomorrow, too. Your taste hasn't changed, has it?"

"No," Stan replied kindly. "I'm kind of hungry now, too…. Would it be too much to ask you make a little extra of whatever it is you're making?—so I can have some now."

"Not a problem!" Kyle said excitedly, and he immediately set off into his kitchen. Stan returned to his seat, and as he waited for Kyle he only hoped the Stan of this world had decently similar taste to his own… and prayed for all he was worth that it wasn't some obscure delicacy.

Thankfully it wasn't: it seemed to merely be some form of Pita bread and cheese. Stan ate gratefully, Kyle watching the entire time. He tried not to seem like a starving beggar, even though he practically was one, and though his stomach desperately asked for seconds he politely and reluctantly declined the offer. Stan waited at the table as Kyle fixed up the room, and within moments Stan found himself in the comfort of a bed once more. It wasn't quite the mattress he'd imagine—in fact, it wasn't even a mattress. Yet somehow, sleeping on cool, not-dusty leaves simply laid on the floor felt nice, even for a tired and aching man.

"Good night," Kyle said curtly, and with that he left. Stan remained there for several moments, eyes wide open as he stared up at where he presumed a ceiling was. Kyle had blown out the light on the way out, and so he really couldn't see much… or think much, for that matter. Indeed, there were a lot of things Stan wanted to ponder over. But it was simply too much too much to take in, not all in one night. It almost hurt to try and piece everything together, at this point.

And so, Stan did the one thing he could do: He fell asleep.

-

Sometime in the middle of the night, Stan woke up unwillingly. It'd been a nightmare, perhaps, or simply just an unfavorable string of thoughts with the sole intention of confusing the hell out of him. But still, even if most of what he'd dreamt of was fading from him with each conscious moment… Stan hoped that none of what he'd thought of actually came true.

But what shocked him the most upon waking up was the figure next to him—no, halfway _on_ him. And sure enough, as he turned his head to look, a sleeping Kyle was beside him, his arm draped around Stan's torso, with his head resting on his chest. For a moment Stan considered removing himself from the odd… embrace. But then it occurred to him that Kyle might've done this frequently with the Stan of this world. After all, Kyle was alone and scared for Bebe. It was likely he had nightmares of his own and turned to Stan for comfort.

And so, he left him there. Admittedly, it was much harder to fall back to sleep, now trying to do so while not disturbing someone else. But, the mere act of comforting someone he technically didn't know felt good. He was doing something good for someone, and he was going to help to lovers achieve the happy ending he still wished he had for himself. And even though it wouldn't be his own ending… it still made him happy.


	3. The Corner Pillars

**Title: **Redemption  
**Author:** Zakuyoe  
**Rating:** Teen?  
**Warnings:** I intend to include themes of many kinds. Expect abortion issues, slash, rape, anything you can think of. It's a story that requires an open mind, so be prepared for when it comes.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own South Park. If I ever do, I'll let you know.  
**Pairings: **Any. As you read on, you'll see what I mean by this.**  
Author's Notes:** This chapter finishes up the tale of how Stan got to where he was. In other words, it picks up from after that first part of the last chapter. Thanks to everyone who's shown interest in this, including **Cherri Misawa **and **-Iaabi'SabeL**! Enjoy!

_Chapter III_

Stan hadn't really been sure what to expect when he fell asleep in his house the night before it all began. Granted that that woman wouldn't tell him much (Stan badly wanted to call her a witch due to the clothing she'd worn) there really wasn't much he could base his standards on. He'd dreamt of many possibilities, most of which were quite absurd, but on the whole he simply did not know what was awaiting him in the near future.

This, perhaps, was why when he woke up that next morning he was hardly sure whether to be amused or unsurprised about waking up in the middle of the desert. It surely was a unique experience, having sand blow over your face instead of the typical morning sunshine. And though, clearly, there were many other differences between waking up in your bed and waking up in the desert, this alone had been enough to wake up with a start.

Immediately he noticed how much harder it was to get up, when every time he applied pressure to the ground he sank into the sand a little. Throughout his stumbling he couldn't help but to feel grateful that it at least he hadn't ended up on quicksand….

But then the next realization set in: this was the beginning of "paying the price." He literally was starting the very next day. And what was worse of a realization was that all the things he had packed were left at his house, lying completely useless on the ground. No, the only thing he ended up able to bring with him was he himself… and whatever he was dressed in at the time.

But to think that by an "unfamiliar environment" she had meant _this_… was this even on earth, still? It surely didn't look like it… though it's not as if he'd actually been in a desert before, physically. And she _had mentioned the word 'world_' a few times yesterday….For all he knew this could be the Sahara Desert… but for miles and miles around him he couldn't see a thing except sand, and there was simply no way of telling for sure.

…and goodness, that sand, whipping itself at his face! It was hardly bearable; Stan attempted to shield his eyes, but even so it beat heavily against his skin. He could barely even move, not with this sandstorm whipping around, and the only thing he really wanted to do was to lay low and wait for it to die down… if it really did ever die down.

But almost instantly, just as he thought about it, the storms did lessen in intensity. He wasn't sure why, or how, but he nonetheless did not complain. '_Maybe it's something to do with what time of the day it is_,' Stan had suggested to himself. But instead of thinking of the answer, he used the time to look around his surroundings again. And in the distance, with the sky now slightly clearer, he could make out a rather large structure. It was oddly shaped, yet nothing he could make out from his history or geography education. At most he could probably consider them ruins.

And so, while he could still do so easily, Stan began to make his way over there. Walking in sand soon proved a difficult experience for him, clearly hindering his ability to walk normally. But somehow he'd managed to continue on….

It was only then that it occurred to him how hot it was. Without the sandstorm bullying his skin, he could feel the heat of the sun burning him. It wasn't surprising, since he presumed deserts typically were like this during the day. But for some reason, the sand beneath him was still cool and not as scalding as the sun was… not that he was complaining. But was it scientifically possible?

…was _anything_ scientifically possible, nowadays?—it certainly was beginning to seem otherwise.

So this would be his price… certainly not what Stan had expected at all. Yet again Stan began to contemplate if he really should have gone through with this whole… _thing_. Maybe Kyle would've been right; maybe he really would've been fine with time. But now he'd never know, because by the time this would all be over he wouldn't have this problem…

Still, though it seemed his path was now set, he couldn't help to wonder what exactly it was he had to be chasing now. Of course, that witch had made it clear to him what he needed to do, and that was basically to act as Dr. Phil for romantically hopeless people. '_Like me,_' Stan added to himself. But on a serious note, even with this in mind, where would he start? He was in the middle of a desert, for Christ's sake! There weren't even any signs of civilization, _anywhere_!

'…_but maybe over there, by those ruins…._'

Stan hoped so. He didn't want to have to start embarking on a wild goose hunt, even though that was pretty much what it'd felt like. And hopefully it'd make sense to him soon enough, what exactly that witch meant when she said he'd have to help certain people. How obvious would it be?—what happened if he helped two people to find out it was the wrong two people?—or was he simply supposed to help everyone? Stan hoped not, for on earth alone that would take longer than his lifetime would allow.

The heat drew heavier as he went on, presumably because the sun was rising further and further into the sky. The sand wasn't picking up yet, at least, and so he couldn't complain. But the journey was still quite unbearable for him, even with a t-shirt on. Somewhere along the way he had been forced to take off his socks, for keeping them on was only causing sand to get trapped within them.

Hopefully Stan wouldn't die of heatstroke before getting to those ruins….

Almost there….

It was odd, almost. Stan could've sworn the sound of music was beginning to pick up. It wasn't anything he'd listen to, but it sounded most like… drums, perhaps. A percussion kind of noise. Maybe it was just him imagining it—maybe he was hallucinating, already. The heat was really getting to him….

But it was growing louder as he drew near, and then it occurred to him maybe he really wasn't hallucinating it. Now he could even hear the sounds of people, maybe even clapping….

The heat bore down on him all the more, and it took every effort of his to make that final stretch onto the solid ground of the ruins.

And then… well. Even Stan didn't know. He blinked once. Then twice. Even a third time. Could he believe it?—certainly not. But sure enough, it was there, in front of him. And as he stepped forward, away from the sand in the air, he could see that there were people there. And they _certainly_ weren't imagining it like he thought he was.

A… parade?

It wasn't for him, of course, and he was glad it hadn't been. Stan didn't even want to know how odd that would've been if it had been. After all, he was positive no one was expecting him. In fact, he was quite sure that if he walked up to the person closest to him (in this case, a little girl) and told her his story, she would have a very hard time believing him. Even if it were an adult instead, the result would've been the same.

Incidentally, it was because of this parade that no one questioned his odd and unexpected appearance. No one had seen him walking in the desert alone, for their eyes were all pasted upon this… parade. And no one even questioned his attire, for they all were each wearing their own strange outfits. Sure, his attire was not quite as festive looking as all of theirs had been, but it was still unique enough to not be questioned. The only thing that really caused him to stand out was the difference in tanned skin, but most people neglected that in light of the festivities.

The festival was indeed an outdoor event, though the sun's heat did not cause the spectators to boil. As Stan found out once he had drawn close enough to the ruins, there was a large gap between the ruin and the ground beneath it. It was as if it were a Jenga tower with several layers pulled out yet still able to stand. And in that gap had been the parade, along with everyone participating and everyone watching.

It was a cooling relief, Stan to admit, but he couldn't help but to wonder what the occasion was. Those around him seemed quite thrilled for whatever it was they were celebrating, but he had no idea… and he was afraid to ask, for he'd probably appear as a complete idiot if they knew he didn't know. Hopefully just watching didn't ask anything from him. He wouldn't know what to do otherwise.

The parade itself was interesting. Perhaps parade wasn't really the correct term for this, either; on the contrary, if it were a parade, it was one with a circular route. It seemed the people watching were on the outside, while the parade walked in a clockwise direction along the inside's perimeter. There were acrobats, drum players, people shaking what Stan would most closely call maracas, and presumably important people on high chairs. Some people in the crowd were chanting along to the cadence, others clapping to the beats, and the overall feel for it was simply breathtaking.

All this in amidst blowing waves of sand from the outside. Most were wearing cloaks though, and the storms weren't blowing too hard. But to think that the people were really willing to endure this just to celebrate whatever festivity it was they were celebrating….

"…excuse me, coming through…." And just like that Stan was pushed to the side, though not intentionally. For almost just as he'd be roughed came the man's apology. "So sorry, didn't mean to push you like that."

"It's all right," replied Stan, though inside he thought otherwise. After all, he'd dictated his wishes only moments before, and he'd merely gone about trying to get to the front of the crowd in a rough manner. But all of those thoughts had vanished upon seeing the man's face, and almost instantly it struck him as quite familiar….

"Ike?" Stan asked, almost sure that that was who he was seeing before him. And maybe if Ike was here, then Kyle would be….

But the man only shook his head, though seeming quite confused. Or was it suspicion that filled his gaze… Stan hoped not. "No… I'm afraid that's not me. I'm Peter."

"Oh… Peter." Yet still, for some reason, that name struck something deep within him…. It _was_ Ike, Stan was sure… but maybe when that witch had said he'd see people he recognized, they wouldn't share the exact name… maybe they only shared physical appearances….

But that name… Peter….

"Go on ahead," Peter called to his family somewhere in the crowd. "I'll catch up with you later." And so, in the distance, a brunette nodded and briskly made her way through the crowd with her children. Stan watched them go, as did Peter, but almost after their disappearance Peter turned to Stan harshly, lowering his voice.

"Come with me." And without even asking for Stan's opinion Peter dragged Stan by the sleeve and went off. Stan almost wanted to make a vocalization on the matter, but that would've drawn attention he didn't quite want. And frankly, that was the last thing he needed right now.

At each corner of the ruins shady base was a stony pillar and it were these pillars that held the ruins up above them all. And upon coming closer to one of them Stan couldn't help but to wonder what would happen if these pillars gave way one day. After all, Stan could now see a hidden door in the pillar…. And then, as Peter leaned forward to thrust it open, Stan wondered where all these people lived. Did they live in that structure above them?—but building inside that ruin would have been remarkably difficult, especially without a sturdy base….

As it turned out, the stairs led downward—to the underground.

Peter descended stairs quite quickly, Stan decided. It took all of Stan's efforts to stay upright as Peter continued to drag him down flights and flights of stairs, the light behind them now fading in their spiral path as darkness began to envelope them. Occasionally there was a torch to light their way, but otherwise….

"Here," Peter said, and he pushed open a door. Before them was now a hallway, and it faintly reminded Stan of a hotel or a dormitory. They proceeded down the hall, but it wasn't long before Peter pulled out a set of keys. Hastily fiddling with it he opened a door, and with a mighty force Stan found himself being thrown into it.

…was this… jail?—'_No_,' Stan thought to himself, '_It couldn't be._' But if it weren't jail than what was it? Peter's home? It hadn't been the warmest of greeting, sure… though it seemed Peter wasn't exactly in the best of moods currently, either.

Within moments the torches within the room were all lit, and Peter settled down on a nearby chair, peering at Stan with a sense of suspicion. Stan, on the other hand, was still as confused as ever, unsure of what he had said to make the man Peter suddenly so angry. But then, the witch had warned him…. '_Be careful of what you say and don't say,_' she'd said to him. And perhaps this would be the consequence.

"How do you know that name?" Peter challenged quietly.

"What name? Ike?"

Peter nodded. "Why did you call me that? Do I know you from somewhere?"

Stan bit his lip. "No, not really…."

"_Lies_!" Peter yelled at him, and it took all of the man's will to not fling something in Stan's direction. "I left that name ages ago… there's no way a random somebody like you could've known that name!" And then, as Stan remained at a loss of words, it hit him: Ike's real name was Peter. They really were the same person. But if he were Peter in this world… even if he'd once been named Ike, maybe he didn't really know Kyle after all….

The idea of seeing people he recognized… people who were the same but different… it was surely getting quite confusing to Stan, now. And frankly Stan didn't know what to think of it. Although… it was rather ironic, really. This world's "Ike" was born with that name, but changed his name to Peter when he left his parents' culture for his own. The Ike he knew… well. His real name was Peter, and he'd been renamed Ike when he had been adopted. But, now that Stan actually thought about it, if Ike were to abandon his parents' culture… he might rename himself Peter, too.

Never mind that thought.

"I honestly… don't know," Stan said to Peter. Honesty, it seemed, would be the only way out of this. "I'm not from around here, see…." But that seemed to have been even worse of a thing to say. Peter's eyes grew narrower, and Stan felt almost intimidated by simply being _near_ the man.

"So…." Peter's voice grew even lower at this point, and it took all of Stan's efforts to hear him. "You're one of _them_?"

"One of… who?"

"_Them_," repeated Peter. "Those… _Fascists_."

"Fascists?" Stan blinked. Such an odd name to call a group of people. He'd heard the term in a history class once upon a time, and a strange inkling told him it wasn't a very flattering term to be called. But whether these people were really fascists or not, Stan couldn't be a judge of that.

Peter, at this point, shook his head in frustration. "You're either purposely acting stupid or you really don't know what's going on. And right now the latter is pretty hard to believe." Stan wanted to protest again at this point, but his voice would not let him. He stuttered helplessly as Peter eyed him with curiosity, and only watched as Peter got up to properly close the door. Would telling the truth… would it help him?

"It's all right if you're one of them," Peter said quietly. "I'm one of them… or at least, I was. Technically. Not really. But my wife doesn't know it. Nor do my kids. I escaped here when I was a bit younger, see. It was at this parade, actually. I'm not sure if you know it, but this parade celebrates the day of our independence from… _them_. It's known by everyone here, of course—it's the first thing taught at the schools here. But back over there… not so much. I only knew of it because of my parents, who were actually from here, refugees who didn't want to be a part of a rebel nation.

"But I, personally, did not want that. I was born into that nation, and I wanted to represent it. My parents gave me no say when we moved—I wasn't even old enough. But I wanted to go back, and so I ran away from there and returned here. And I came here on the day I knew no one would pay attention: This parade. No one would be paying attention, no one would care, no one would notice….

"I'm sure it's the same with you," Peter said, now turning back to Stan. "I don't know how you know my name, though. Have you associated with my parents?—did they send you here to get me? I doubt it. You don't seem tanned at all, either, which makes me want to believe you're really from there, because not many people there actually ever see daylight… not unless you're in the military. And I'm sure they use that ploy to suck people into service, too….

"That's not the point though. I'm almost positive you're like me in that regard, so you don't have to hide it. But the parade only comes once a year. If you have doubts about staying, you'd better head back now." Stan couldn't help but to feel as if he were being treated as a child, as if Peter were treating him like a mom. But Peter couldn't help it, Stan supposed, and his intentions were only to help. Though, listening to Peter made Stan wonder if perhaps now was the proper time to tell the man the truth, that he wasn't really this refugee he made him out to be….

But what was getting at Stan was the need to leave. Could he really take an entire year, here?—if there really were two places where people lived here… what if he needed to be over there?—he'd have to wait an entire year… and somehow that didn't seem too appealing. But how was he to know who he was supposed to help?—would that person be here, there…? He still didn't even know what kind of person he was looking for….

And so, hoping that these _Fascists_ Peter spoke off were both easier to get away from (should he need to leave) and not literally fascists, Stan made his decision. "I'll go," Stan said, "but first I have a question."

"Fine. Ask it."

Stan began: "I know this might seem overly broad and general, but… the people here don't have any… relationship problems… do they?" Even as he said it he sounded ridiculous. It was too broad of a question, too… random, spontaneous. And if he hadn't sensed it before, he realized now how difficult it would be to accomplish the task that witch assigned him. If helping two troubled people was bad enough, how much more if he didn't even know how to start?

Peter frowned. "You'll have to be more specific than that."

Stan shrugged at this. "I don't know, like… divorce issues, for example?"—except, as Stan realized once he spoke, he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to be fixing divorces… or at least that's what he assumed. And he certainly hoped not, because getting a divorced couple to get back together wasn't an easy task… unless they wanted to do it on their own free will.

But Peter shook his head. "Maybe with those other people, maybe. But here we take away romantic love altogether. It's something the elders decided on when we broke apart from the motherland. And I guess it's not to say that romantic love can develop afterwards. But the actual courtship process… gone. It's supposed to take away any emotional stress. I guess you could say it makes us more stable, emotionally."

"You mean…?"

"Prearranged marriage?" offered Peter. "Yeah, that. So you don't find any problems with a relationship between a man and his spouse. I got lucky; I didn't have parents here with me, and so instead I asked Bella's parents' permission to marry. But I'm sure I'm the only one of that sort. So to answer your question, no. Any reason why you ask?"

"Not really," said Stan, shrugging. "Anyway, how do I get out of here?"

"Same way you got here," said Peter. "Crossing the desert. There's no other way of getting there, really. Any other way and you'll just get lost forever in the desert… unless you happen to stumble across one of the outposts. And if you do, then you'd better consider yourself lucky, though they'll probably arrest you. I suppose it's better arrested than lost forever.

"But yeah, crossing the desert's the only real way to go. And I'd hurry up and leave now, if I were you. While you still can. The parade should end in less than an hour, I think."

"All right, then." At this Stan got up, and he helped the other up from his seat. The two left the room in silence, Stan waiting for the other as he locked the door. They said nothing to each other as they walked down the hallway in silence, and eventually up the stairs….

"So how _do_ you know that name?" Peter said at last, though perhaps now just for his own curiosity. "You don't know my parents personally, do you?"

"Um… yeah, I do." A lie, of course, but it was the only thing Stan could think of. Somehow he didn't think the true story behind things would settle very well with this Peter. "I live down the street from where your parents live."

'…_I hope there're streets where he lives…_'

"Makes sense."

"So this place… is it just halls and halls of residency?"

"This pillar?" Peter asked. "Two of these pillars are just residency. The third pillar has commercial purposes, while the fourth's how to get to the water."

"So it's kind of like a dorm, then," said Stan to himself, though Peter had heard him.

"Dorm? What's that?" And for the rest of the spiral ride upward Stan began his best to avoid the curious questions of his companion. Eventually, after some time, they did reach the top. Initially blinded by the light outside, they were both somewhat relieved to find the festivities still occurring. The sand seemed to have picked up, however, and so most of the spectators were now covering themselves in their cloaks to shield themselves.

"Have my cloak," Peter offered, removing his and giving it to Stan. "It's the one I used back when I came here. It blends in well with the sand, and especially since the storms are at a high right now it should help you escape."

"You sure?" Stan asked, looking doubtfully at the cloak now in his hands. Somehow he felt as if he couldn't take it… but looking at Peter's smile assured him otherwise. "…thanks."

"No problem," he replied, and he gave Stan a salute. "If you keep going in this direction you'll find your way back. And so… here's to hoping we see each other again."

"Yeah." And with one last wave, Stan was off. Not once did he look back, to see if anyone would see him leave. He didn't want to know, either. He didn't want to know if anyone could see him, if anyone saw Peter helping someone leave… he didn't want to know any of it.

Peter, as it turned out, wasn't that bad of a character after all. A little paranoid, perhaps, but still strong with his beliefs. And it was because of him Stan knew where he was going, even if it did mean going back into this storm…. Because of that man, he'd leave knowing he wouldn't have to come back, that he'd find what he was looking for over there, somewhere….

He couldn't help but to feel slightly bad, though. But he supposed it couldn't be helped. As much as he wanted to be honest, Peter simply wouldn't understand. He also felt bad for lying… what if Peter decided to come back one day to see how he was doing?—would he be shocked to find no such person as a Stan?—but he didn't even ask for his name….

Not to mention, their promise of seeing each other one day… it wouldn't happen. Stan was almost sure of this. There would never be a chance for Stan to thank him again, for Stan to return the cloak he'd been lent…. And so, once he was sure he was far from sight, he took off the cloak, looked at it one last time, and let it go. In the winds of the sandstorm it blew away, and Stan stopped walking to see it fly into the horizon.

One day, Stan hoped, it would return to its rightful owner.


	4. Apple Pie Waft

**Title: **Redemption  
**Author:** Zakuyoe  
**Rating:** Teen?  
**Warnings:** I intend to include themes of many kinds. Expect abortion issues, slash, rape, anything you can think of. It's a story that requires an open mind, so be prepared for when it comes.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own South Park. If I ever do, I'll let you know.  
**Pairings: **Any. As you read on, you'll see what I mean by this.**  
Author's Notes:** We're back out into the sand! And thanks to those people who've shown interest in this so far, especially to **Numbah 00** and **Cherri Misawa** for their reviews. :)

_Chapter IV_

"There."

"Where?"

"Over there, can't you see it?" Stan craned his neck but saw nothing; with a great sigh the man shook his head. He was meant to be finding some sort of way out (as he had merely fallen to get in), and though Kyle was doing his best to point out the escape route it was simply too dark to see where or what he was pointing to. They were in front of a church at the very least, though it didn't seem to be a very stable structure from what Stan could tell. But other than that… Stan didn't have a clue.

It'd all started off that morning, when Kyle had to wake him up due to oversleeping. It'd just been so long since Stan had had a proper place to rest, he'd managed to sleep well into the morning, almost making it to lunchtime. At first he'd been reluctant and tired, but once the idea had settled in that he was supposed to be embarking on a quest to find Bebe, he immediately rose to the idea, even scaring Kyle in his determination.

He'd gotten dressed quickly and had even devoured the meal Kyle had prepared in mere moments. But in the midst of trying to be the hero, he'd come to one small problem… which he'd only realized halfway out the door.

"How… do I get back up?" And so, after Kyle laughed at Stan's hasty idiocy, he got himself dressed and proceeded to accompany Stan back to the place where he'd made his crash landing. And that, incidentally, had led him to this church. But as for actually getting himself up there….

Kyle sighed, laughing at the man next to him. "Well… it's a bell or sorts," Kyle explained, folding his arms across his chest. "To get there you have to go through the church and climb the bell tower. At the top should be a rope you can pull. It rings a bell way up there… and the Gatemaster should be able to hear you. He'll then come down and bring down the ladder for you to climb, and you'll be all set to go."

"Thanks…." For a moment, as they stood in silence, Stan pondered the functionality of this system. It was rather peculiar Stan had to admit, especially since the system was just as intent on keeping citizens in as it was on keeping enemies out. But why?—sure, it would have worked much nicer if the entrance were beneath them, and here the drop-the-ladder approach would've been more efficient in only keeping those unwanted out. But in this case…? Enemies could easily enter, though he supposed they'd probably get injured in the process. Maybe that's why they suffered invasions so easily.

But even then, he supposed one of two things: either enemies were attired much differently than he was and made their entry more pronounced, or they always fell in groups. After all, no one had questioned him as he fell… but that might've just been him looking too stupid for his own good. But he supposed at least the citizens had _some_ way of leaving, though difficult and impractical for emergencies….

It all mystified him, surely, and it left him quite confused… but maybe he was thinking about it a little too much.

The waving hand in front of his face could be a sure indicator of this.

"Sorry," said Stan, shaking his head in an attempt to catch his consciousness before it left him again. "Just… thinking."

"Yeah, I bet." Silence again. At any moment Stan could've left, but for some reason his feet were rooted to the ground. For some reason, even though this wasn't the Kyle he knew, he almost felt a sense of… ob—

"You don't have to do it," Kyle began, placing a hand on Stan's shoulder. "I mean, if you're really injured and all… I don't think you should be out there."

"I'm going to," Stan said quietly.

"But…" but Kyle said nothing. It occurred to Stan what Kyle might be feeling like. He was sure there was some sort of desire for Stan to stay with him, so that it wouldn't be two people lost to him. And though it could possibly be selfish on Kyle's part, Stan had his own share of it. By not wanting to stay, to find Bebe, to leave Kyle alone… that was in order to achieve his own wants of finishing the task assigned to him as quickly as he could.

"Fine," he'd said. "Promise me you'll come back?"

"I will," said Stan. Would he really? Stan didn't know. He'd have to one day, of course, since the whole point in him being here was to reunite Kyle with Bebe. But whether he'd survive the desert to tell the tale….

His first step into the church had been the worst one. A creak gave way beneath his foot, and he immediately jumped on the spot. It was almost as if no one had set into the church for ages—if at all—and in its abandonment it had begun to rot and deteriorate. But that had at least made it clear that people didn't often want to leave this place.

The door behind him was kept open as he continued to walk inside the church. He would've gladly opted to take a torch with him, but Kyle had insisted there would be no place it once he had found his way to the top. And so as to prevent an entire church from being burned down, he proceeded to walk in the dark.

He knew roughly where it was. To the left of the altar was supposed to be a door. And through the darkness he managed to find his way to exactly that. He was thankful that the experience altogether wasn't too frightening, though if he could barely get past this there was no way he could deal with whatever it was that awaited for him.

He opened the door and found a small room, so small he could barely fit himself inside. Right in front of him had been the ladder, and after securely grabbing on to the ropes he began to pull himself upward, placing his feet wherever necessary. In a way, though, he was cleaning the ladder from the dust that'd settled onto it, and so with each step he climbed he found himself coughing and stuffier from the dust around him.

The climb was long, and it was still as dark as ever. Stan could only think about how much he'd wish this civilization had more modern technology. A civilization practically living in the dark… wouldn't it be so much easier if they all had light bulbs and electricity? If only Stan knew how to make a light bulb, he could easily invent it in this world and make their lives a little easier… for both them and himself.

Eventually his head hit the ceiling, and it took everything he had to not fall off the ladder in pain. For a moment he was confused, trying to figure out why a ladder led to nothing except the ceiling; but then it occurred to him that what was above him was, in fact, another trapdoor. He searched for the latch with one hand as he held on with the other, and not long afterward he found himself breathing relatively cleaner air once more.

He was now at the top.

He looked down at the ground below him, for a moment, and to his surprise found Kyle waiting for him. He smiled at the man, both flattered and happy that Kyle cared for his progress and his wellbeing—though Stan soon reminded himself that Kyle still thought this was _his_ Stan. Perhaps out of courtesy he gave a wave, and it put a smile on his face to see Kyle's distant image waving back.

But… to business….

Stan looked at his surroundings. He wasn't that far away, now, though from this height he now realized why he'd gotten hurt after jumping down. The distance had been _far_. Stan could only guess that he was probably about ten stories high, at the least, with another two or three left to go. And perhaps if there were a few more of him, he could somehow help himself up… though he'd still have the problem of that trapdoor which kept him inside.

But not too far away from him was the rope. He walked carefully to it, being sure not to lose his balance, and with one inhale of a breath he pulled down on it with as much force as he could muster. He almost could've sworn to have heard a faint ringing in the distance, but he wasn't sure enough to say for sure. But after his tug… nothing happened. And, frankly said, the only thing he could do was to wait.

Moments passed, though it seemed much longer to him. And while waiting for that ladder to drop down, he began to think about the people he'd met while here in this sandy realm. He'd met Ike, or Peter, back at those ruins… though he hadn't recognized his wife. He'd met a man named Damien, who in a way resembled a childhood classmate of his, though that classmate had slightly been on the lunatic side. Then of course, Kyle… and Bebe, soon enough.

Bebe. Bebe had been Stan's first girlfriend after leaving the romantic warzone Stan saw as "high school." More than anything Stan had used this as a means of getting over Wendy, who'd broken up with him a whopping twenty-seven times from back in elementary school up until their graduation. He was sick of relationships, sick of Wendy—and all he really wanted really was a new start. And so, with Kyle's permission (not that he really needed it, but he figured he'd ask for it anyway) his relationship with Bebe began.

The first thing he noticed was how less demanding she'd been to him. Maybe it was simply because they were in the earlier stages of dating, but Stan started to find himself making most of the decisions, which had indeed been a change. Instead of going to eat at places Wendy was "craving," they instead ate "wherever." Instead of watching sappy romantic movies on their dates, Stan and Bebe were watching "whatever."

The second thing he noticed, which relatively followed the first difference, had been how less outspoken Bebe was. Being so used to simply listening to Wendy's opinions, it took all of Stan's effort just to keep a decent conversation going. Not to say Bebe was quiet or shy, for in fact she was quite the obvious. But it seemed she was only opinionated in things she had a clue on, and she refused to speak on anything she didn't have an interest in.

And the last thing he noticed was simply Bebe herself. It simply wasn't the same. They didn't have any interests in common (when Bebe actually expressed her preferences to him, at least), and most of the time it seemed to be a forced, one-sided relationship. But it had been because of Stan's initial desire to experience a relationship other than Wendy's, to have fun with life and to have a fresh new start, he kept with that relationship.

He regretted it now, of course. Not because it had been a waste of time, but because he'd been leading her on falsely. Of course, with Bebe, it'd always been hard to tell. He'd never understood it, and for the most part he simply presumed she was not one to share things unless she felt the need to. But still, even if he couldn't read her exact thoughts, they still had lots of fun together.

For example, Bebe made a very mean apple pie… oh god how Stan wished he could smell it now. Making it was the fun part, for it was the one time she'd actually seemed genuine with him. Not to say that she was fake in any way, but she seemed to enjoy herself the most in these moments. She'd laugh with him, even if there really wasn't a reason to. If there was anything Stan treasured from the moments he'd had with her, it was that apple pie experience.

…though, the apple pie itself was rather memorable, too. And he could sure use one right about now… though he knew there was absolutely no way he could get one.

Thankfully, before he could salivate over apple pie any more than he already was, he heard the opening of a trapdoor. Within moments the ladder fell down, which incidentally hung several feet in front of him. Stan gaped; would he be expected to jump for the ladder?—after all, it was dangling in the air before him, nowhere near the platform he was currently on….

But of course, to his relief, the ladder began swaying, much like a pendulum. Stan let it come to him once, then away… and just as it came a second time he reached forward and grabbed hold of the ropes. Though much more liberating, Stan found this ladder to be much scarier of a task. After all, if he mistook a step, no matter how small… he could lose his balance and fall to the ground below. And so, with this caution in mind, he proceeded quite slowly in climbing to the top, where a familiar face awaited him.

"Back already?" Damien asked with raised eyebrows. "I didn't think it was _that_ boring down there. Of course, I suppose that's why I opt up here."

"On a mission," Stan replied quickly, standing up in that dark hallway. "Oh that reminds me, why'd you make me jump yesterday? That's a long fall! You could've gotten me killed!"

"I'm surprise you didn't, actually," Damien muttered under his breath. "But I wasn't trying to kill you off or anything. I just accidentally forgot the ladder and didn't feel like leaving you unattended just to go get it."

"Thanks," Stan said sarcastically. Damien waved off the feigned appreciation, and once given the okay he began to lead Stan back to the exit. The entire time Stan remained quiet, simply thinking to himself as Damien held the torch in front of them…. Even as Damien returned the torch to its holder near the entrance to the hall, even as Damien helped Stan up the trapdoor, not a word had been spoken.

It was only when Damien tossed the bunched ladder to the side when he spoke. "So what mission are you on?"

"Uh…." Stan pondered for a moment if he should tell Damien. This man, perhaps, was the one person in this world who actually knew who he was and where he came from. It wasn't necessarily the man he trusted the most, but… he at least knew his true position. So could he trust Damien with the information of his quest to find Bebe?—and now, as he thought about it, was there really anything to hide about the mission?

"I'm finding the woman Bebe," Stan said simply. "You know of her?"

"The hostage?" inquired Damien. "Yeah, of course. I was told to keep an eye out for her. There was a regiment assigned to finding her whereabouts… they left a day or two before you arrived."

"The Clearwater Regiment?" asked Stan, as it was the only one he knew. But at the same time he was only hoping it hadn't been, because if it had….

"Yeah, that was it," Damien replied, much to Stan's horror. "Headed to infiltrate the South Camp. That's the last we've heard she might be. Hopefully they haven't taken her to main base, yet. So then I guess you'd want to head for South Camp, then."

"Yeah." Stan bit his lip; he was doomed. "Which way is south?"

"The Ruins are northwest from here," said Damien, "and this exit directly faces them. So you should be able to figure out which way is south."

"Thanks…."

"So is this goodbye?" asked Damien, giving Stan a frank frown. "I mean, it's pretty dangerous out there… especially if you get lost. I'd like to see you again of course, but I'm afraid the odds are against you."

"I'll be back," Stan promised, and with that he stepped into the desert storms outside. Oddly enough, as he began to orient himself into the southward direction, he felt almost as if this time around, this farewell, he'd actually meant it. Somehow, at this moment, he was now sure he'd succeed. Still, as he began to walk, he couldn't help but to feel crushed at his luck… or lack thereof.

The Clearwater Regiment had been assigned to finding Bebe… which meant they were currently at the South Camp.

…which meant Stan would soon run into his lookalike… and he wasn't looking forward to it. At all.

-

Stan concluded that perhaps between mental and physical strain—at least, when it came to crossing a land made entirely of desert—the latter was the lesser of two evils.

The physical strain was a given. Walking in sand proved to be quite the workout for the lower half of his body. It was the same continuous process: Digging up his feet from the sand, struggling to move it a few feet ahead of you, letting it bury itself into the sand as you move the other foot, then use all your effort again just to unbury it. Not to mention all of the bruises caused by inconsistencies in the ground, and it became simply perfect.

No, what was perhaps the worst part about it was the mental strain. Physical fatigue could always be relieved with rest (though this task was quite difficult amidst a blowing and relentless sandstorm), but it was relatively difficult to deal with mental stress. The main contributor to this, of course, was the lack of knowing if or when you'd finally see signs of life again. Being the only one in a desert, being in isolation away from any sort of contact, let alone seeing nothing but miles and miles of sand before you, wondering if you truly were headed where you wanted to go or if you were simply lost… the feeling wore you out.

These thoughts occurred to Stan several times as he managed to continue on his way. Unlike the ruins, there was no easy way of finding out where he was, for that stone building simply wasn't large enough to be seen from such a far distance (and even if it had been, it would've been quite difficult given the lack of visibility). He knew he had been going southward when he'd started, and if only his footprints would've remained imprinted on the sand as he walked he could've easily figured out of he was still at least headed in a straight path. But the sandstorms blew them away and recoated them with fresh layers of sand, and Stan could only rely on his judgment that he was still going in the right direction.

It grew worse as nightfall came. As it had the first night he'd witness outside, the sandstorms had died a little, and part of Stan wanted to keep going for the sake of being able to make more progress without having sand blown into his eyes. But two reasons ultimately prevented him: The first had been more obvious, and it was a simple case of fatigue. From this Stan realized that should there be a next time in crossing this desert, he'd remember to conserve his efforts for the nighttime where he could make the most progress. The second reason Stan was hesitant to continue was because the lack of light could possibly throw him off the southward direction.

And so Stan rested that night. In order to keep his position he slept in way such that his feet were pointing in the direction he needed to be going in—and he hoped he didn't move much throughout the night. He did have one other issue, though, and that had been trying to sleep while a weak sandstorm was blowing overhead. Though he'd considered many options, ultimately he'd decided to take off his shirt and use it as a facemask. And to an extent this worked; he at least hadn't swallowed any sand while sleeping. The only downside had been when he awoke, finding himself covered in sand particles that wouldn't seem to shake off him completely no matter how hard he'd tried. And so instead he left it alone, slinging his dust-covered shirt over his shoulder and carrying on.

He began to grow even more worried by the time the sun rose to its highest point in the sky. He'd conveniently forgotten to ask Damien how far south this camp had actually been…. Besides, what was the _point_ of actually having a camp all the way down here when there was no enemy threat in the area?—or was this supposed to be their faraway base away from the fray? Despite all these thoughts though, Stan couldn't help but to feel like declaring a state of being… lost.

But just as he felt as if he actually was lost… he saw it. He also wanted to believe it was his imagination, but he knew it clearly wasn't the case. In the distance, though not too far away from him, was a bunny. A sand hare, maybe?—but it seemed to be making intense eye contact with him, as if trying to read his thoughts. And maybe it'd succeeded, for moments later it darted off in the directly opposite direction of Stan: South. And of course, curious as he was, Stan made an attempt to follow.

Incidentally, being lost in the desert reminded him of a road trip he'd once taken with Bebe. They were in their first year of college, and it had been. Incidentally Kyle managed to have a different Spring Break than they did, and so they had taken that opportunity to go visit Stan's close friend at Yale. And of course, as Stan had been driving without a map or GPS (Bebe had conveniently left the road map on the kitchen counter before leaving), it wasn't long before he'd found himself lost.

"Just ask for directions!" Bebe would have argued after having tried to accept his stubbornness, but Stan would've wanted to keep going, for he had at least been sure he was going in the right direction. It was just a matter of when he'd have to switch interstates—or to get off it. Not too hard of a task… but the entire time Stan kept dreading that he'd missed the exit, that now they were just driving aimlessly in the wrong direction.

And so, reluctantly, he'd called Kyle for help. At first he'd laughed, as if it'd been such a Stan thing to do; apparently, though, men in general weren't good with directions. And so, after describing to Kyle where he was, Kyle navigated them to where they needed to be.

But Stan had been on the right track, though. If only he held more confidence in his opinion and decision-making skills, he might've seen this for himself.

In a way, he supposed that that sand hare reminded him of Kyle. Somehow Stan was finding the strength within him to overcome the trials of the sand that attempted to slow him down, and instead he was doing quite the job in speeding up and trying to catch up. He willed himself to not get too carried away, that if that hare ever strayed from the southward direction he'd remember not to follow suit.

He'd run for hours, it'd seemed, and just as he'd felt like ready to give up he saw it in the distance. It was quite similar in structure to the building the supposed _Fascists_ live in, the only difference being that this had been built from the ground up. Still, the structure looked to be of the same type of stone and of the same type of architecture.

At first, though his initial reaction had been relief, Stan couldn't help but to wonder: He'd always been told that there had only been two structures suited for habitation, and yet here was a third structure sitting as proudly as the other two. Sure, he supposed it was only a mere camp… but technically that meant it had livable conditions. Had it simply been ignorance that he'd been told wrongly?—or were they actually trying to hide…. And Stan supposed now would be the perfect time to remember who exactly had told him this information, but for the life of him he simply could not think of it.

The hare, incidentally, found its way to the very entrance of the building, where Stan noted a small hole. The hare squeezed its way through the hole, which Stan presumed its home resided. Now if only he could simply squeeze his way through somehow… surely opening the door would be too easy.

Part of him really wanted to slump against the wall and fall asleep. The support of the wall would surely be nice to sleep upon, after all. And now that there was no need to keep his direction intact, sleep was highly appealing of an option. Stan was by far past his limit, both mentally and physically exhausted. And so, without even really considering it much thought, he fell asleep.

Did he ever regret it afterwards?—of course. Rendering yourself to the enemy at their doorstep was pretty comparable to admitting murder. It was simply forfeit, surrender. He hadn't taken the account that there might've been people on guard, that they just might've seen him coming from a distance, let alone from the direction of their enemy. He didn't consider the fact that, just maybe, he might actually get caught.

If Stan did get caught, at least he didn't feel it in his sleep.


End file.
